In Memory of an Angel
by Teddy R. Lupin
Summary: Canon storyline, post-Brave New World. Syelle, Gabriel-centric. Gabriel/Peter friendship. "Lowering his head as he stepped in that particular evening, he walked directly to the counter and filled up a medium-sized Slusho cup with a cherry-red coloured beverage. He stuck a straw in it, though he knew full well that he didn't intend on drinking it."


Right, well...I'm a new _Heroes_ fan. Well, I say fan...that's putting it lightly, I think. This idea came to me a little while after I finished the series, and I mentioned it to a friend through Facebook, and her reaction was, "WHYYYY?" So I figured it'd be good for some feels. Because I like feels.

Anyway, I apologise in advance if any facts are wrong - I'm not sure if Peter did or did not know about Gabriel/Sylar and Elle's brief relationship. I'm going with the fact that he didn't.

* * *

The sun was setting beyond - well, beyond the skyscrapers - as Gabriel Gray packed up the glasses and delicate tools of a watchmaker, storing them in the desk and locking up the register before grabbing his coat and leaving the shop for the evening, knowing that it would be the same thing the next day.

Wake up, put on the same drab shirt and sweater vest, tea and cereal for breakfast, open the shop up for the day, wait around until the evening, close up, go home, maybe eat dinner, and go to bed. And the day after that would be the same, as well as every day following it. He'd known what he was doing when he gave up Sylar for good - but had he been prepared for the lack of an adrenaline rush, for the same, everyday life that he had lived before? Somehow he didn't think that he'd prepared himself for that.

He sighed, zipping his jacket to ward off the cool, October breeze, when his mobile phone rang, disturbing the relative silence that was a deserted alleyway in Queens, New York. Gabriel jumped - it wasn't often his phone rang - it was even less frequent that he answered it. He could have dealt without it, really, but Peter Petrelli had insisted. Blinking, he pulled it from his trouser pocket, and scowling at the screen, replaced it in the space it had vacated. He didn't feel like talking to anyone, least of all a connection to his old life. The life he was trying to forget, all except for one, small, light in the midst of all the darkness he'd created.

It was Thursday night, and that allowed Gabriel the tiniest of smiles.

So instead of taking the back-alley route home as he usually did, in order to avoid salespeople on the street and tourists that didn't speak a word of English, the tall man headed into the fray, ignoring the sounds of what was the beginning of the night in New York. Nightclubs were opening, and small, family-owned shops were closing. No one knew his name - though the vendors on the street were familiar with him as the man who they saw once a week, heading to the local convenience store for the bare minimum. They might've known that he owned the small watchmaker's shop down the road, but for the most part, they only recognised his face, those glasses and the solemn expression that seemed almost printed onto his face.

Gabriel ignored them, for the most part. He had no reason to speak to them, no purpose to a conversation. Aside from the small thirty-second phone calls from Peter every week or so and the few people that came into his shop, the thirty-something man had forgotten what it meant to communicate. He didn't want friends; he didn't need friends. He knew that people must think him a bit of an oddball or maybe even a sociopath - maybe they were right. He didn't care what people thought of Gabriel Gray - maybe that was because all 'Gabriel Gray' was, was a shell. A body for him to live in. He was no longer the innocent watchmaker, he was battle-scarred. He hadn't even smiled since that night at the Carnival. At least, not a real smile. Fake ones didn't count, he knew better than that. He was no longer Sylar either, of course, he'd sworn off killing. His powers were all but gone - he only used telekinesis when it was absolutely necessary, and his only true power was what made him so good at his profession.

He'd had to deal with the supposed murder of his adoptive mother when he finally resurfaced, of course, but his already broken soul had told the police it had been an accident, which was the truth. He had never meant to hurt her. They hadn't always gotten along, but no families ever do. He had never meant to hurt Virginia Gray. That confession, with a little prodding from an anonymous helper (who he was almost positive was Angela Petrelli), was enough to set him free to do as he pleased.

So he went back to the only job he'd ever known.

Months later, and it was like he had never left.

There was only one distinct difference in his schedule, one change that never faltered, rain or shine. Every Thursday evening after work, he would head over to the local shop.

Lowering his head as he stepped in that particular evening, he walked directly to the counter and filled up a medium-sized Slusho cup with a cherry-red coloured beverage. He stuck a straw in it, though he knew full well that he didn't intend on drinking it. He paid the worker in two single dollar bills, murmuring something to him about keeping the change, and left the shop without a second glance. It was a ritual, and the cashier knew better than to question him.

~000~

Five minutes later, Gabriel Gray had found a seat a few stores down at the local coffee shop - no one seemed to mind, they never did. At first, the baristas had taken bets on whether the strange man in the sweater vest would buy a coffee when he walked in, but eventually, they learned that he never would. He would come in, sit there for maybe an hour, staring at the melting Slusho on the table in front of him. And that's what he would do. He would simply watch the drink melt. He would never take a sip from it, and he would not leave.

Sometimes they thought that he was waiting for a date that would never come.

They didn't even know his name, but they knew that, somehow, the drink was never for him.

It was for someone that would never arrive.

So they stopped taking bets, and instead, cast pitying glances to the sad, lonely man who had surely lost more than they could possibly imagine.

That very man cast a glance around the shop, and when he was sure everyone's heads were turned, he barely flicked a finger, and the paper cup slid over to him. Gabriel's lips turned upward into a slight, sad smile, and finally, he picked up the sugary beverage and brought it to his mouth. He sucked on the straw, for the first time since he could remember, and he grimaced as his tongue registered the taste. He wondered briefly how Elle could have possibly drank those so regularly, wondered why she liked them. Wondered if the sugar rush helped her ability, wondered if there was a deeper reason.

Every time, he seemed to come to the same conclusion.

Of course there wasn't a reason.

It was a drink. That's all there was to it.

~000~

As it turned out, however, Gabriel would not be alone that evening. For another young man happened to be 'in the neighbourhood.' A man who knew the seemingly friendless and mysterious stranger quite well indeed.

Gabriel didn't notice the man who brushed long strands of dark hair from his eyes, too focused on the strange taste on his tongue and the cold water dropping from the cup onto the wooden table. He didn't notice the man order a Venti Mocha, nor did he notice the barista glance over at him, exchanging a few words about the strange man who would sit there every Thursday night. Never saying a word, never ordering a drink, looking more heartbroken than they'd ever thought a man could look.

He also didn't notice it when the man stepped up to him, a pitying glance on his face.

He did, however, look up when he heard the familiar voice.

"You look like hell."

Peter Petrelli took a seat across from Gabriel, holding his steaming coffee in one hand as he pulled off his coat, hanging it on the chair next to him. Gabriel merely snorted and shook his head, waving a careless hand.

"Thanks, Pete."

Peter flinched noticeably at that - the only person to call him Pete had been Nathan. And for a lifetime of having a big brother, the murder by the very man he sat across from was still much too near. However, he said nothing.

"They say you've been in here every Thursday night for months," said the younger man, his eyes concerned as Gabriel raised an eyebrow. In his opinion, he'd quite like it if Peter stayed out of business that wasn't his, but for some reason, he welcomed the intrusion this time. He was unsure how to progress the conversation, but he certainly knew he didn't want it to end. Luckily, he didn't have to speak. "You don't answer my calls, and if you do, you hang up. You say you're living, Gabriel, but this isn't living. This is..." Peter searched for a word, sighing. "This is existing."

Gabriel remained silent yet again, dark eyes searching his friend's.

He couldn't expect Peter to understand. Of course the young Petrelli would try his best - the Empath, the Nurse, the Paramedic. The one with the bleeding heart. The only one who seemed to care. The one who had given him a second chance, even after he'd betrayed him again and again. The only one he could honestly call his friend, even after all this time.

Peter sighed yet again. "What're you doing, man?" he murmured, his voice so low so that only Gabriel could hear it. He took a careful swallow of his coffee and placed the paper cup back on the table before studying the same drink that Gabriel had been staring at for three-quarters of an hour. He didn't know what the importance of a Slusho was, but he knew it had to be important for Gabriel Gray - for Sylar - to be so affected by it. "That drink...it's never been for you, has it?"

This time, Gabriel cracked a smile.

"No," he admitted, his voice low. He stroked the paper almost affectionately, almost as if he could imagine someone else sitting across from him, someone quite a bit more blonde and most definitely more feminine. "Never for me."

That confused Peter to no end - what would a watchmaker waste his money on a drink every week for, especially a drink that it seemed he despised. The same size, the same flavour, the same everything, every Thursday at the same time. Same routine. "Then - " But Peter chose not to finish his sentence. Obviously Gabriel had lost someone in the fray - maybe someone he had killed and regretted, maybe someone who had just gotten caught in the middle. He couldn't help but remember the Noah Gray of the future - that innocent little boy who had been so cheerful and so full of life. Dead at Claire's hand. Dead because of who his father was, dead simply because he was there. And because of that young life, the whole of Costa Verde had lost their lives. A future that would now never come true, he was sure. They had prevented it.

But at what cost?

Who had Gabriel lost that had such an impact on him, even after all the people he had killed?

It hit Peter like a bolt of figurative lightning, though he didn't realise how close to the mark it had hit.

But even then, he chose not to say anything. Instead, he tilted his head and offered Gabriel a gentle smile and a shrug. "Who was she?"

The older man's reaction was instantaneous, and Peter knew he'd been right. Gabriel's fists clenched, his body stiffening. But after a moment, he took a deep breath and exhaled. He hesitated for a moment, knowing that he couldn't yet bring himself to speak her name. "An angel."

And suddenly, Gabriel stood up, clutching the Slusho cup in his fist as if it was his lifeline, and he headed straight for the door. Peter turned to watch him leave, but was pleasantly surprised when Gabriel turned back, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Hey, Peter."

"Yeah?"

The reformed serial killer raised a hand in farewell, his hands slowly curling inwards as he slightly waved. "See you around."

~000~

Gabriel's routine would never end. Shifts would switch, people would get fired and then hired, people would grow old, the regulars would come in with their children growing almost right before his eyes, but he remained the same. He would sit there, looking at that same old Slusho cup, seeing in it promises of a future that he had destroyed, of a life that he could now never have.

But since that one night, once Gabriel went to throw the now-melted drink away, he would press a kiss to the plastic lid, a small smile hidden there, and he would whisper a fond farewell. "Goodbye, Elle."

_Fin~_

* * *

Would it be too much to ask for a review? I'm actually quite nervous about this fic.

~Teddy


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